>>6125650The Ambulance WAS ok, until a ghoul smashed through the windshield. After that, in the wake of it, the enterior of the ambulance is now filed with glass and teeth and zombie AIDs blood. And be assured, that smell is not coming out.
You and the others don't even have the satisfaction of seeing it happen. In fact no one does.
[Because I couldn't find a gif or webm of someone falling from a height and crashing into a windshield of an ambulance or a truck. Not even a car and I looked for at least an hour, so instead I'm including Picrel, and I am very dissatisfied, but this is the world we live in.]
>what happenedSomeone asks. They almost have to ask a question like that, it's written in the rules, that, with a body sticking out of your windshield, no one individual or group ofpeople can simply and wordlessly remove said body and go on about their lives. Perhaps if they could, attournies would not be a thing. But as it is someone has to voice the unanswerable question.
>'what happened'Is it not obvious?
Is that why someone feels compelled by the forces that undergird existence to make this at once unhelpful and yet inescapable inquiry?
Yet they do in fact ask just that, and as might be expected, there is no answer given. No one even sputters an attempt.
You are all beyond sputtering.
This is a no sputtering zone.
>fetch a trash barrelYou tell the group, and set about climbing atop the hood and clawing this sack of rotten meat and torn up polo shirt off your dashboard.
[My 1st digit is the item in the corpse's hip pocket. And it is top quality, whatever it may be.]
You have blood on your shoes, blood on the hood, blood on the mounted heads of your enemies. Ghoul blood is darker, but it still contrasts with the diverse flesh of the open gobbed festering domes sitting above the headlights, and, having splashed back over them, trickles down in little streams over their brows, almost like war paint, or graffiti. The idea strikes you that you could paint them yellow and orange, but you realize that you've forgotten which is which. It seems, to your way of thinking, almost an social gaffe to paint them wrong. No. You couldn't live with the uncertainty of always looming out at them, covered in paint, and never being sure that you'd done it right. You'd wind up lying awake all night pondering the question and going out ten times with spray paint and reversing it, and you'd still not be sure. Somehow letting them rot in the weather and sunlight seems better.
You'll sleep on it.
>is someone up on the roof?>gotta be, unless someone built a catapult.>heyya salesman, you didn't check the roof?>we've been here for weeks. I never heard anything up there. Anyway, the fire escape ladder is locked closed, and it stops like 10 feet off the ground.He shrugs unapologetically.
The mechanic says he'll rig up some metal plates for the windshield, and shuffles back to his workshop, gathering plate metal flat bars and some square tubes.
>continued 